That Day
by Dali2theLlamasquared
Summary: A brief look into an hour of Darth Vader's life on one day ten years after his transformation.  Very short one shot.  First Star War's fic.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Star Wars characters, ships, vehicles, planets, or sexy Jedi Masters...they all belong to George Lucas, which means all my hopes for becoming a Jedi are summarily trashed...Oh well.

A/N: First Star Wars fic, critique very welcome...any flames will be used to heat my house, which is currently freezing. Thanks, and enjoy.

That Day

If there was one day on the Imperial Calendar that Darth Vader hated more than any other—it was today. Today he had no desire to choke the Captain-Lieutenant-Private…whatever the kid was—but to not do so would set a bad precedent—especially since the kid had just knocked Vader down on his carefully reconstructed rear. And still hadn't offered him a hand up. Apparently not looking where he was going could be bad for a Dark Lord's evil butt.

Never mind—he shouldn't have to strangle him if he didn't want to. It was his prerogative. "I'm so very sorry, Lord Vader. I should have been paying more attention, see it is my birthday, and I was trying to go and meet my wife…"

"Shut up."

"Yes, sir."

Pulling himself to his feet Vader towered over the young man who shrank back, trying to make himself invisible. "Go home."

"Thank…Thank you…" He quickly scurried down the hall—hoping to get away before the Sith changed his mind.

"And Happy Birthday."

The Imperial officer froze, stunned, but by the time he turned—Vader was gone.

Hoping the rumors wouldn't be rampant by lunch, Vader decided to go find a secluded area where there would be no one to bother them with interruptions of, "My Lord…" Wondering briefly if he should inform Piett of his sudden disappearance, he decided that he really didn't what to interact with anyone: including Piett. Feeling a little like a teenager sneaking out, and sorely wising he could go to a bar without being recognized, he removed a faulty panel in the wall next to him and squeezed into a gap between the walls. Replacing the panel he reached out with the Force so he wouldn't stumble in the dark passageway. He slipped over and under support beams that he couldn't see, making his way to the sanctuary he'd made.

Every year on this day he would go through the same journey to the hollowed out area where a worn meditation mat and beaten table sat. His knees fit into the grooves on the mat as his hands ran over the wood. The sensors in his robotic fingers let him feel the ring worn from countless steaming tea cups, and the deep grove from a lightsaber that had been discharged by accident when dropped.

Reaching out he felt for the pocket knife, given to him as a gift so many years ago, and snicked it open. Feeling around the top he found the tick marks that littered the table and added another, carving deep into the soft wood. Putting the knife back on the table top he ran his fingers over the marks, counting. Ten. Ten marks. Ten years. Ten.

Ten years since he'd slipped down here the first time to litter his most precious possessions in a forgotten annex of his ship. Eventually he would have to move all of the things to the Death Star…if construction ever finished. But perhaps by then he wouldn't need them. The meditation mat…their table…

His fingers strayed to the burn again, remembering clearly how he'd been carelessly flipping his lightsaber between his fingers…He most certainly wasn't expecting his Master to walk in covered in the color pink, from head to toe, even his skin the hideously bright color…and the lightsaber had slipped, the button depressing as it hit the table…Apparently the man had been volunteered to help in the crèche when they were painting.

Reaching under the table Darth Vader pulled out a small box. Removing the lid and placing it on top of the table, he couldn't resist giving the box a small shake to listen to the sound of the contents being jostled around.

Pulling out a smooth stone to run between the gloved fingers, he couldn't help but remember how it had been pressed into small hands, small needy hands, who wanted a piece of the man who had saved him from the desert world, and how his Master had placed it in them, whispering,_"Whenever you need someone to talk to, reach out, and I'll be there…and he'll be there too. As long as you have this to remind you, he will always be there, inside of you." _He hadn't known for years that that had originally been a gift to his master, one that he'd given up for a small, needy, boy…

The rock had spent years under a pillow, now it sat silent in a box, with the few other precious objects that were his possessions. Replacing it, his fingers bumped a small model, that of a speeder. A model that he had begged for, when his Master had taken him to the speeder show, a welcome surprise, one that perhaps he hadn't been properly grateful for, but a night that he never forgot. His Master didn't really like the flying machines, he'd heard rumors that his Master had loved flying, but it was just another facet that had died on Naboo. But he had taken the teenager anyway, and apparently behind the Council's back. Behind the Council's back was the part he had found out about later, when his Master was called before the Council to get a stern lecture, but his Master never said anything about it, and he'd never found out how much trouble he'd gotten in. Not that it mattered, now.

Shaking slightly, hoarse breathing rattling through the empty chamber, he replaced the model, wondering why he subjected himself to these memories. He was above this now. He was a Sith. Emotions had no place, there should be anger and hate…never regret.

There was regret, though, as he ran his fingers over his Master's padawan braid, that the man had so carefully attached to his new padawan's ridiculously short one…and it grew when his fingers lit upon the broken mug…

The memory of his Master drinking tea in the morning was invoked, and he could clearly remember that morning, when his Master, half asleep still, had been stumbling through the living area, getting ready to take his padawan out, as he had promised, to some obnoxious concert that he was sure to despise, but was sure to please the younger Jedi. And then Mace had walked in, having found out about the intended destination and insisting that they report for the Council for an assignment. The true nature of his Master had flared when he had openly swore at the other man and threw the mug, it shattered where Mace's head would have been if he hadn't ducked, and the scalding beverage had poured all over the Council Member…how his master ever got on the Council after that he never knew…though he suspected it was because Master Yoda had secretly found the incident so amusing that he had spread the rumor far and wide over the Temple that the reason Master Windu's robes were wet down the front was because he had been unable to show Jedi-like restraint, and therefore hadn't made it to the refresher on time…which was the reason why his Master had been volunteered for that crèche duty in the first place…

An insistent beeping interrupted Vader from his memories of Mace Windu's contorted face, and the look of horror that was on his Master's when the beverage had showered the Council Member, and he reached for his comm, angry at himself for forgetting to turn it off. "What?" he snapped.

"My…my Lord…the Rebel ship that we boarded…we confiscated a disk…they were insistent that you shouldn't see it…"

"I'll be there."

Replacing the box under the table he turned quickly and left. He didn't want to think about his Master anymore. How when no one else had remembered, Obi-Wan had never forgotten, he had promised he wouldn't…anger filled him when he remembered his Master's retreating back on that lava planet, his mechanical hand reaching out, mind screaming that he'd promised, he'd promised, he'd promised… It didn't matter. Not now. His duty for the year was done. That room could rest in peace for the time being. He met Piett on the bridge, and snatched the disk from his hand, turning to go to his quarters where he could view the information in private. "Stupid Rebel Alliance," he muttered. Stupid Rebels, stupid Separatists, stupid Jedi...

With a dramatic flare he rounded the corner to his living quarters, causing some lackey to flatten himself against the wall to avoid being run over. Not even sparing the man a glance, he hurried into his quarters, glad for anything to distract him from _this _day. Popping in the disk, Vader turned, knowing the recording would start playing on its own, and began sorting through the papers on his desk.

His hands froze on the desktop when clipped Inner Core tones filtered into the air around him, and he turned to see the blue fuzzy image of Obi-Wan Kenobi. _"Anakin, if you're there…I'd like to apologize. I know I promised you I'd never forget, but it has been nine years since I've said it to you…I've acknowledged this day every time it has come these past nine years, and on the tenth year I couldn't…I know this is nothing like sneaking out to see a speeder show…or a concert…nothing like the illicit acknowledgements of this day in years past. Still, if either side were to find out about this message…_

_"I've never forgotten, Ani. And I will never forget. And even if it is ten more years before I can tell you again, I needed to tell you now. Somewhere inside I have to believe that you are still that little boy that I gave Qui-Gon's rock to, and the teenager I loved as my son, and somewhere I believe that man I loved is still there, and I promised that man I would always be there on this day. And so here I am._

_Happy Birthday, Anakin. Happy Birthday." _

He had remembered.

_"May the Force be with you, my very young apprentice."_

As the blue hologram flickered and died Darth Vader felt a piece of him flicker back into life deep inside him, that piece of him that he had left burning in that fiery inferno, for the first time in ten years, Darth Vader felt hope.


End file.
